As She Leaves Me
by Flint and Feather
Summary: Countless times, Vincent has made his way through the tunnels to take Catherine safely home. His decision on this occasion creates a desired delay. It's about lovely love! Please read and review.


**A/N: Here is a one-shot exploring the inner romantic conflict that we fans of Vincent and Catherine know so well. We lived it with them time and time again, and hoped for so long to see a kiss. It's my first entry in the fandom. Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: Ron Koslow owns all except my story. **

**...**

Vincent's large hand completely engulfed his Catherine's tapered warm fingers as he escorted her yet once more to the branch of the tunnels that would take her on her way home. His padded palm, shaped by the unique genes of his lion-being, had been rendered coarse by long years' use in wrestling blocks of stone and rough lengths of timber, yet Catherine nestled her hand tighter within its cherished strength. Neither ever wished to speak openly of parting.

She clung closer to his side as they walked, he matching an easy stride to hers, clutching his upper arm for sustaining comfort. And in that, she was much less gentle than he required of himself. As it signified how loathe she was to leave him as they neared her pathway, Vincent welcomed it – and was saddened by it. Selfish it was, this sadness for himself, and he banished it before their bond could speak it fully to her. Catherine was certainly no stranger to the feeling at these very moments. It had become a shared, inexorable part of their lives together. But they must view it as a most positive sign, she had told him, of how they needed each other, of how deeply their affection ran. No awkward silences existed between them except for this, since they had given up speaking the words that made the inevitable physical loneliness more real. He had never thought before knowing Catherine, that his strength and patience would ever be tested in this way, to this constant, continuing extent.

As they ended their walk and stood at the destination, Catherine pivoted to face him, her melting eyes searching deeply into his. Perfectly, delicately beautiful she was, when her heart shone upon him so, that his poet's soul soared beyond inspiration, yet he held all within himself. And when she embraced his shoulders and laid her head with utter trust upon his chest, he could ever imagine that his layers of clothing, protection from the chill and damp, created no interference to the warmth she aroused within him.

Without the nurturing of Father, who, what would he have become? What had he been made for? Once evolved to the intellect of self awareness, all races of Man had never ceased pondering this one question throughout the ages. He had been born to carry himself in no other way but as a man, no question. But to consciously frame the questions, to sift for the answers, only brought him to despair and frustration. And it paid off nothing in the way of satisfying, constructive conclusion.

What would those who had known him, say of him after – _if_ he grew old? He'd been protector and caretaker, labourer, teacher, scholar and mentor. All of this, applied and served repetitively, selflessly, and for his entire life in the same underground sanctuary. Would it ever be said that he'd been a lover, husband, father? By any standard of the full human species, Vincent was then in his adult prime of health and strength, rightfully beset by desires and potentially able to pursue the next milestones of life as expected and hoped by all living beings to achieve. His academic studies had only made it more achingly clear to him, the joyful union that was possible between a man and woman. And he was in every way, desperately in love with Catherine. She had made it unmistakably clear that her heart belonged to only him. This gift of the highest order salved the starvation of his spirit, and forced him to wrestle with his awakening. Should he not be allowed to grant himself some of the generosity that he'd always bestowed on others?

Catherine would not again be reappearing to him within days, nor scant hours. To say goodbye, good night to her yet another time, seemed the unavoidable constant of their lives. But like their own familiar song played without variation, Vincent again let his arms fall to his sides with a genteel, resigned grace that Catherine had come to rue. Her fingers, clinging to his hand, gave patent voice to her yearning eyes, willing him to accept their expressive, unspoken plea.

"If you ask, my love, I will say yes."

Would it never be the moment? He placed her happiness foremost, she knew all too well, in his firm belief that her best chance for lasting love would materialize without him in her Above World. Inasmuch that Catherine had been raised with her culture's expectations that a developing attachment may take its course, she knew that Vincent had lived deprived of such unencumbered natural promise, and knew too, that his actions must meet his honourable standards. She had seen him seclude himself and suffer greatly when he'd been forced to kill, to end an evil life for the salvation of innocents.

But he must come to her, she had resolved, in his own time without doubt, without reservation or a shred of regret. Should she kiss him now, would he simply allow her touch without returned passion and chivalrously release her? And though they leaned into each other with her arms surrounding him, his golden head inclined against her cheek, he made no move toward her lips. Not this night. And so she softly exhaled a happy sigh to be known and remembered by him as she heard the fabric of his sleeves rustle with the raising of his arms until they had gathered her firmly against him. It was no embrace of mere fond farewell between best friends, Catherine realized, nestling her face in the dense silken fall of his mane.

It took her by surprise then, her sudden loss of balance forward. But he was bringing her with him while he backed away, one free hand splayed out in search of the wall. Finding the mark, he crouched down by its pitted surface, and Catherine wonderingly followed the newly bold invitation in his blue eyes and the sure draw of his hand. He flipped out a side of his cloak for her comfort before she sank to her knees at his side. She sensed nothing tentative in her compelling lover as she knelt pleasurably studying him for some seconds. No playful demeanor emerged – but what was she to anticipate? Vincent warmly roved one hand up her arm, pulling her gradually closer to him. Catherine remained locked with his mild, earnest gaze.

"This," he said in his intimate rumble, "is all I have to offer you." His other palm rested on the rough-hewn wall, his clawed fingertips lightly probing the inequities of its surface. "It is plain, unremarkable, my prison – but it stands as fast as my love for you, Catherine." He bent down his head then, shielding himself beneath the concealment of his mane.

"There is no plain, unremarkable wall between us, Vincent." Her soft tones of adoration comforted his heart as much as her readily given answer. "Your love will be bound within mine for you, and whatever your prison, I would gratefully share it."

He raised his face to her tender smile, and in that instant, removed all long held obstacles of indecision, convention and impossibility. His hands, moulding gently about her shoulders, drew her down to his side. Her dewy cheek nestled against his throat, her fingers creeping up to rest on the lacings of his shirt. She lay feeling the slow thrum of his heartbeat in the utter silence about them, and the sweep of his cloak brought up to shelter her. For the first time, he had placed them together as close as they could be, not to supply solicitous care, not because she needed shielding from the damp...and if he was now proceeding as she had hoped...

At her back, she felt his arm enclose her more intently. She melted into his broad chest and before her eyelids fluttered closed, she glimpsed the flicker of his golden lashes as he gently lowered his head to lightly brush his lips across her cheek. Her entire being gloried in the sweetness of his touches, trailing downward until he lingered at the corner of her mouth. With a tiny shiver, Catherine turned to him, seeking softly at his cleft and full lower lip. He caressed back in kind as he learned from her. How she wished to know his mind right now – and in answer, his unleashed stirrings rushed to mingle with hers. She slipped her hand up to his face as their lips pressed more closely, sating long held hunger. Filled to the depths of his heart, Vincent lived nothing but the enchantment of her love, charmed by her girlish gasps as she rained kisses on the planes of his cheeks. She took his face between both hands then, her fingertips trembling as she reclaimed his lips, inviting his full response, again and again. He startled slightly when she touched the tip of his fang, but she smiled his concerns away – not difficult, not awkward. His deep pleasure thrilled to her across their bond. Fulfilling as it had been to spend their first year intellectually finding security in each other's spiritual integrity, their state of impasse must be allowed to break.

The quiet celebration of their love seated against a semidark tunnel wall, could have been no more exquisite had they lounged in the finest palace. She would never question why he had spontaneously chosen this place to act, far from the lure and comfort of his bed. She understood.

"And now," Catherine sighed, glancing apologetically over her shoulder.

"I've kept you here much too long," Vincent assented, rising to help her to her feet.

"Vincent, it will never be long enough. I have your priceless gift to take with me tonight. I may not sleep at all!"

Hand in hand, they strolled the short distance to her exit, then stood in each other's arms. In the Above, the dawn could not be seen, but it reached Below in Catherine, as she raised her glowing face to Vincent and blissfully heard his most caressing whisper.

"Whatever comes, my Catherine...you bear me the height of any happiness I've ever known."


End file.
